Sidney

It's all dark, it's all I see.

Quiet crying that's all I hear.

The cold, hard ground beneathe my tiny feet,

And the warmth of my blankets disappear. 

As I curl my little fingers around the door frame,

I peer in.

No longer do I see dark,

No longer do I feel the chill of the night.

But still I hear the crying.

Now I see a small silloutte leaned over a small bundle of blankets.

Now I feel my heart sink to the pit of my stomach.

Now I know my mother is crying,

Over the quiet bundle of my baby sister.

Now I know, my mother weeps for the fact that my baby sister, well,

She will never grow to be somebody.

For the Angelman's syndrome has robbed her of that privillege,

And my mother of her dreams that fell to the bed and shattered,

In not but the form of tears.